


Gospel for the Wicked

by Aestera



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, M/M, Masturbation, Religion, Self-Harm, homophobia in the 20s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aestera/pseuds/Aestera
Summary: If loving another man were a sin, Credence would gladly follow Mr. Graves into the depths of hell.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An exploration on how Credence’s beliefs would affect his feelings for Percival. Angst like whoa but it ends on a happy note. Takes place within the course of the film.

_He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this way. Everything is slightly faded, as if the world has fallen off its axis. The room is dark and he can feel the cool sheets against his bare skin. His wrists are cuffed to the bedframe, and he can barely move without causing the metal to dig into his skin._

_A warm body moves on top on him, heavy and muscular against Credence’s lanky frame, rough stubble grazing across his neck. Credence cranes his neck to try and get a glimpse of the man’s face but the room is pitch black._

_“Keep still, my boy.” The man groans. Credence shivers as a hand palms at his cock, fingers stroking at his length. The voice is familiar, and Credence convulses when he realizes whom it belongs to. This is wrong. Unnatural. He needs to find a way to escape._

_“Come for me.” A slant of moonlight illuminates the man’s face for a fraction of a second and Credence stares in horror. It can’t be._

_But at the same time, it is almost impossible to look away. Kind, brown eyes filled with an animalistic desperation. The same calloused hands that cupped the planes of his face now on his cock, creating a pleasure so deep that he can feel it in his bones._

_It feels impossibly good._

_He makes the mistake of looking straight into the piercing gaze of Percival Graves. “I want to see you fall apart.”_

_His hips jerk upwards; thrusting furiously into the tightening grip. His legs are leaden, sparks of electricity shooting up his thighs. The heat from the pit of his stomach is spreading towards his extremities. He’s so close. Just one more time and-_

*

Credence woke up with a jolt. The bedroom was dim and freezing. His chest was throbbing hard, as if one of his vital organs had been removed during slumber. He ran a finger across the damp sheets, now soaked with his sweat. A bout of nausea rolled over him and he stumbled to the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach into a wooden bucket.

He could still feel the cloying haze of the dream on his skin. Warm hands sliding over every each of him, coaxing him into climax. He felt almost violated, but in the best way possible. What would Ma say if she knew what had just occupied his thoughts? He could never truly shake her presence. She was always lurking about, a shadow fading in and out of dreams and reality, passing judgment on his deepest and darkest desires. There were often times when he wondered if his thoughts were even his own.

Peeling off his worn pajama pants, he almost gasped when the thin fabric brushed against his swollen arousal. He locked the door quickly, before moving to push his pants down to his ankles. He needed to be quiet, the walls were thin and Modesty and Chastity were light sleepers. And if Ma found the stains, she would ask him to fetch the thicker belt, rather than his usual one. He was already treading on thin ice with her, after yesterday’s tardiness. His hands were shaking violently as he took hold of himself. It only took a few more strokes to tip him over the edge, white fluid spurting onto his palm and he exhaled with relief.

He washed up quickly, silently pulling on his clothes for the day, hands trembling as he fastened the thin leather belt to his waist.

It was already a quarter to nine. He needed to be out on the streets before ten to circulate the pamphlets. He would be meeting Mr. Graves in the afternoon. The mere thought of that sent a pool of warmth down to the pit of his stomach. A sudden panic gripped him. How would he even face Mr. Graves after last night? He would be sickened if he knew that Credence thought of him that way. And then he would leave, and Credence would never see him again.

Sodomy was a sin. That he knew all too well. Ma had mentioned time and again that the souls of all sodomites would be condemned to hell under the divine law, as well as those who dabbled in witchcraft and other forms of vice. He needed to purify himself before facing him.

He walked silently towards outer chamber of the Church, passing through the empty pews to kneel in front of the altar. He retrieved a small switchblade from his jacket. Ma had assumed that he used it for either self-defense or self-harm and never questioned him about it. She would probably encourage him if it were the latter.

Screwing his eyes shut, he began whispering into the darkness. “Please, Lord. Forgive me for I have sinned. I am unworthy of your love.” He swallowed hard before continuing.

“I have unnatural desires. Just- take them away from me.” He dragged the blade across his palm, wincing as the metal sliced into his flesh. The pain was almost refreshing, the harshness of it opening him up to a much needed moment of clarity. He found that he could always focus better when some form of punishment was inflicted upon him. He watched in sick fascination as his blood trickled onto the polished wooden flooring, the tainted crimson leaving his body. It was only after he had carved up the entire expanse of skin on his left palm, when he allowed himself to make the Sign of the Cross and leave the Church.

*

The day seemed to drag on, each minute that crawled by slower than the first. People milled around, going about their business and treating him as if he were invisible. The stack of pamphlets felt unusually heavy in his arm. Wetness seeped through from inside his bandages, forcing him to abandon his post several times to change them.

At a quarter to three, he shoved the leftover pamphlets into his small satchel and ducked across the street to their designated rendezvous point. A dark alleyway in the heart of town, squashed between rows of diners and theatres. He leaned against the grimy edge of a brick wall, bowing his head and trying his best to look as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn’t hard. No one even bothered to spare him a glance.

When the bell tower chimed at three, a ball of energy formed in the alleyway, threads of air pulling inwards before spitting out Mr. Graves. He was dressed in his usual work suit, a stylish corduroy coat and grey scarf thrown over the whole ensemble.

“Any progress so far?”

There were a handful of children that fell under his list of suspects. “I think it may be a girl, but I’m not sure yet. I need more time to narrow it down.”

“Time is of the essence, my boy. If you could give me some names by the end of-” His gaze fell on the sodden bandages. “Your hand. It’s bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.” He mumbled, shoving his hand into his coat. Mr. Graves moved closer, slipping his hand into the boy’s coat pocket, fingers encircling his wrist.

“Let me see.” He whispered, unwrapping the soaked bandages. There was a sharp intake of breath, and Credence winced as a flash of anger crossed the man’s eyes. He knew that expression all too well. For a second, he thought that he would be struck across the face, and was taken aback when Mr. Graves kicked a tin can with an unexpected amount of force that sent it flying onto the street.

“Did she do this?” Mr. Graves inquired, mouth twisting into a hard line.

He didn’t want to lie, but the truth tasted bitter on the tip of his tongue. His wounds were considerably worse than his usual tiny lash marks. The lacerations across his palm were still oozing blood, even though it had already been over half a day. Lying was a sin, and he didn’t want Mr. Graves to start investigating his Ma and sisters.

“No.” He looked down at the littered pavement, tears stinging at the back of eyes. “I- I did it.”

“I felt dirty and I wanted to cleanse myself.”

“Of what?”

“The feelings.” He turned away, curling his hands into fists. “Whenever I close my eyes at night, I see-”

“What do you see, Credence?” His tone was hushed, almost seductive, luring the words out of him.

“You.” He finished. A heartbeat passed before Credence dared to look up. When he did, Mr. Graves was regarding him intently, a small smile tugging at his lips. But when he blinked, the smile was gone.

“And what am I doing?” If it was even possible, his voice dropped an octave lower. Credence shivered.

He wanted to leave. To run back to the Church and forget all about the child. In the deepest recesses of his mind, he had fantasized about the possibility of Mr. Graves returning his affections. It had always seemed like a distant dream, a warped version of their time together. But now that it was happening in front of him, he couldn’t shake just how wrong it all was.

He tried taking a step towards the street, towards the bustle of the crowd, when strong hands gripped his waist, pinning him against the wall.

“Something like this?” Fingers reached down to unbutton his fly, fisting his crotch.

“Please, I can’t. It’s not right.” He gasped, as Mr. Graves began to grind his hips against his posterior. He hated how weak he was. Maybe Ma was right; he was nothing but a worthless degenerate.

“What isn’t right?” Mr. Graves hissed into his ear. “Your feelings for me? That’s funny, because last week you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“I- I’m sorry.”

Mr. Graves spun him around roughly. “There is no right or wrong when it comes to love. Intimacy doesn’t have to be only between men and women.”

His eyes were wide and earnest, like he was begging Credence to understand.

“ _This_ ,” He placed a hand across Credence’s chest, right above the steady throb of his heartbeat. “is real. _You_ are valid. Do you understand me?”

Credence nodded meekly, wincing slightly as Mr. Graves wrapped him into a tight embrace. It was all he could do not to moan at the brief moment of contact.

“It’s just what I’ve been taught my whole life.”

“I think what your mother needs is a little magical enlightenment.” He twirled his wand in his hands thoughtfully and Credence wondered if there were charms that could change the mentality of someone as stubborn as his mother. “The power of religion has clearly been wasted on her.”

In that moment, Credence felt a swell of affection for the older man. No one had ever taken his side before. He was used to outsiders turning a blind eye to his injuries. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize that he had been staring at Mr. Graves' lips with slightly vacant eyes.

Before he could look away, Mr. Graves' mouth was on his. His mouth was hot and hungry, forcing his lips open. He tasted like expensive liquor, another forbidden indulgence, and Credence sucked at his tongue greedily.

He was about to pull away for air, when Mr. Graves caught hold of the side his face, pulling him close so that their foreheads touched.

“Get me the names. We cannot let this child slip through our fingers.”

Credence had chosen this, and he’d known exactly what he’d be getting into when he agreed to be Mr. Graves' eyes and ears. It was an honor, for someone like him, to provide assistance for a greater cause. Mr. Graves had given him a purpose in life, a mission that only he could accomplish. And there was no greater gift than that.

If loving another man were a sin, Credence would gladly follow Mr. Graves into the depths of hell.

“I’ll see you next week then. Same time. This will all be over soon." With that, the same swell of energy erupted into the air, before fading into nothing, taking him along with it.

That evening, Credence returned home with a slightly more pronounced skip in his step. Nothing was going to break his spirit for the foreseeable future.


End file.
